Dear Javi: Letter one.

I won’t always publish these letters but I feel it’s important to share some of them. So here’s to the first of many.  

Javi,

It’s me, your mother. It’s late at night and almost September. They tell me that’s when you’ll come. Probably around September 14th. My bet is on the 3rd though I don’t know why. I’m anxious to meet you and I want the time to be now. Or yesterday, actually. I’m actually quite terrified. Of labor and delivery, yes. But more so about being a mother. About being your mother. Your dad and I talk about you every night. Our fears and concerns and how we’ll take care of you and comfort you and give you necessities and extras. We’re hoping you like us. Now and always. But we’re both confident there will be times we won’t be your favorite people in the world. And that’s okay. I guess that’s what it means to be a parent. 

I love your dad. I’m not sure I always knew we’d end up married with you on the way but I always knew he was the one I wanted to be around every day of my life. He’s so kind and patient with me. He’s talented and passionate and smart. He treats me like a queen. He’s so excited for your arrival. He’s been making the house perfect, fixing the cars, washing the laundry, keeping us stocked in groceries, hanging shelves and moving furniture. You’ll see soon enough that he’s the type of man you’ll want to strive to be. I just know it. And the way he treats me? Well I hope that one day you treat the person you love in a similar way. 

We met when we were teenagers and started dating when I was 20. We stayed up late and stayed out all night. We went to movies and festivals and clubs. Daddy played in bands and toured. We traveled and camped and fished. We played mini-golf and video games. We hiked and watched tv marathons. We celebrated happy times and mourned through hard times. We were young once, if you can picture it. We’re hopeful that we won’t forget that feeling… Of being young and feeling compelled to do something less than intelligent. I think it’s inevitable so I’ll apologize now. I can promise that we’ve been there and probably went through it, tried it, failed at it, lost it, crashed it, and just about anything else you can do… Your dad probably did it first 🙂

I’m a nervous person. Your dad is carefree. I’m going to be the one who doesn’t want you to fall or hurt or cry. Your dad knows that falls heal, being hurt is okay and tears dry. I hope I can learn to let go but I’m sure it’ll take time. Just a few words of advice: seat belts save lives and so do helmets. Also jumping into a body of water you’ve never been in is dumb. Please don’t. I could go on and on about swimming safety but I’m sure if you’re like your dad you’ll roll your eyes. 

Right now, I feel you moving around in my belly. It’s the eve of the beginning of week 38 in this journey together. It’s been easy. You’ve been kind to me other than some swelling but that’s mostly the heat. I’m so looking forward to meeting you. I have so many hopes and plans and dreams for your life. I want you to have it all. And if I have anything to do with it, you will. 

I love you a whole big bunch,

Mama